#spn snippet

[mlobsters]

jared padalecki and jensen ackles nj con 2025 - gold panel

team stinky boys ✅ filled with regret

[gerardways-mcr]

dean wakes up fully clothed in the smell of both the trashy motel room, and him and his brothers’ sweat.

he tilts his head down to look at sam, who is sleeping in the crook of his neck, and gives him a quick peck on the forehead, combing his fingers through his unwashed hair.

“Mornin, Sammy.”

[jollyhunter]

. ☆.´☽¸.Tell me about the Stars.¸☽´.☆ .

⋆ ˚｡⋆ Heavy Angst Warning!

[Season5] Dean x ForeignHunter!Reader

Re: The WIP Folder Game - Thank you @bettystonewell and @the-potato-is-lonely for asking me about this one shot (? Maybe I’ll continue this, let me know if you’d be interested <3) I decided to post a bigger snippet / extract of it since it’s been sitting in my drafts for some days now and you just motivated me to write on it some more! 💙

“So, Dean, how’s your mornin’ been so far?” You try to make small talk. The thought of falling asleep to some stranger blabbing about their ordinary life without ever seeing them – yeah, that sounds like a good thing to clock out to.

Much better than the screams of the woman that’s still ringing in your ears. Or the snarling that had clawed at the back of your throat while the sound of shattering bones had filled your mouth.

“It’s in the middle of the night.” He states, his tone confused. “Tell me again, how the hell did my number end up in your contacts?” His voice sounds gravely and thick with exasperation.

You huff. As if you knew? It was just… there. No name, no notes, no nothing. Just a blank number. Last time you’d saved a number must’ve been years ago, way before you-

You stop that thought right there.

“I told you, I don’t know.” You repeat, your energy draining with each word, “I just wanted to know who’s behind the number. Have a little chat. That’s all.”

You spilled a half truth.

“Look, it’s late here and I really don’t know why I’m talking to you but what do you want exactly?” He sounds exhausted. Almost as much as you. And it makes you wonder what life must have thrown at this man to make him sound like he was two breaths away from a breakdown.

Little did you know that Dean was way past the two breaths.

You couldn’t see how his free hand’s rubbing his stinging, red eyes. Couldn’t know the reason for his raspy sound was a voice hoarse from desperate begging into the nightsky. For someone, anyone for help.

“Can you see the stars from where you are?” You suddenly ask in a strained whisper. And your question must have taken him off guard because his side falls awfully silent at that.

Your eyes travel down your limp legs until you witness the first light of the day kiss the forest floor, just out of your reach.

You sigh, shakily. The back of your head thuds against the side of your van in resignation. Head tilted slightly, you lift your gaze to meet the soft painting in the sky. Pink colors frame the endless rows of mountain peaks. A pair of birds sing above you, welcoming the sun to the horizon. So peaceful.

The corner of your lips melt into a smile at the sight. A weary one, at best, but it did manage to redirect the red streak dripping down your cheeks.

There’s a long pause on the other side of the line and for a moment you fear he might have hung up.

But then he responds in a low, husky voice, “Yeah, I see ‘em.”

You hum, eyes briefly fluttering close. Thank God, he's still there.

After a moment of sinking into the silence that's between you, he adds in a softer voice now, “What ‘bout you, what can you see?”

“The sun’s rising here,” you murmur, your voice sounding heavy, but he can pick up on the hint of a smile to it. Albeit a sad one. “It’s a beautiful morning.”

It was true. But you also wished you could have seen the night sky one last time. Watch the stars twinkle and bath in the moon light. Instead your eyes linger on the tree tops, filled with bitter envy. How the God rays caress the leaves with a gentleness you could only dream of. And its shadows dance across your sprawled out form while the fresh morning breeze weaves through your blood soaked tangled hair.

You shudder. The sound of your lungs grow heavier as every raise of your chest fills the distance between you.

The realization has your trembling fingers curl around the phone like it’s your only lifeline.

Dean must have noticed how your breath comes out a little too ragged and a little too weak for someone just calling a random stranger for a chipper small talk.

“Hey uh, you all right? You sound like you’ve been through the wringer.”

“‘M fine.” Your lips press together, swallowing back a hiss at natures cold touch against your exposed skin. The smell of earth and pine trees flood your senses.

Thankfully the sharp inhale through your nose instantly dampens the taste of metal in your mouth.

“Tell me about the stars.” You prompt softly.

𓃦 A/N: I started writing this after I rewatched the "My Bloody Valentine" episode with Dean's breakdown in the end. 🥺 [The entire setting is inspired by an original story of mine, about a female solo-hunter in Scandinavia who lives off the grid with her dogs. 🤭] Dean Tags:

@aylacavebear @jc-winchester @ambiguous-avery @bettystonewell @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @v1v1-3

[thefirstradiant]

Suptober Day 6: Electric ⚡️

Unfortunately I didn’t get the chance to write out the fic in full yet like I wanted to. I will perhaps come back to this at a later date. I lost some motivation and sleep this weekend:/ Anywho! Here’s the headcanons/notes/bits of dialogue I had written down!

NSFW ~ Destiel ~ electric shock kink

-it starts when Cas accidentally brushes past Dean while his grace is sparking due to some strong emotion. He’s furious at something but turns back around and sees Dean absolutely frozen to the spot looking like he forgot how to breathe

-for his part, Dean did forget how to breathe. Cas’s grace felt like a electric shock to his core and went straight to his cock. He managed to stay silent but it was a close call

“Are you okay, Dean?”

“Cas, uh yeah,, angel, that’s right. Yeah. Fine.”

-Dean can’t stop thinking about it and bolts to jerk off everytime he gets the slightest tingle

-it takes a few weeks but Dean finally asks Cas while they’re having sex to “do the thing with your grace”

“My grace? Dean?”

“Fucking hell Cas. Shock me, burn me, I don’t care.”

-he’s sliding into Cas at the same time as he’s saying this and doesn’t have more words than that, he’s fucking a fucking angel so it shouldn’t matter

-Cas isn’t even sure how to do it on purpose at first but he tries his absolute hardest to focus on how much Dean wants it

-Cas figured it out and dean has the best orgasm of his life

-Sam was concerned the next morning because of the screaming

-they end up making it a regular part of their sex life and regular life

-turns out in addition to exciting Dean, it also works to ground him in stressful situations and punish him whenever Cas is annoyed (dean really doesn’t mind)

-dean doesn’t like to think about why he finds it so arousing but good news is he can’t think much when Cas is doing it to him

-Cas becomes slightly addicted to shocking dean

-dean is more than a little addicted to it

-Sam thinks they’re fucking weird

[rosecarr67]

So very interesting that these shots of Dean getting attacked by a vampire are constantly used to reference him being the 'subject of male gaze', situate him as the 'female', claim it's a simulation for gay sex or SA, or to showcase his supposedly submissive nature, that Sam dominates him, etc.

But no one (that I've ever seen) goes on to apply those ideas to what happens next- namely, Dean resists the temptation to turn and kills every vampire in that nest single handed while also kinda hallucinating. Then his family finds him like this:

It feels safe to assume that's the case because those theories don't make sense in the big picture and they only look plausible in the short snatches of story line that always get picked out for this.

[bespectacledgiraffe]

A Sneak Peek for

Like A Prayer (On My Knees)

a Destiel fanfic on ao3 from me for you.

Status: completed, currently editing chapter by chapter. See current pinned post for master post of this fic.

Chapter six, the final chapter, will be online on Sunday, June 15.

Losing a loved one could make you restless, and tempt you to do morally grey things. At the thought, Castiel looked to his side, where Dean still stood close; his side pressed against his own, and had been for apparently some time already. His own hand still rested on Dean's arm, and neither seemed to have noticed or cared.

The now slowly dying flames shone in Dean’s thoughtful eyes and cast deep shadows across his face. Castiel silently took in the view for a few more moments before Dean noticed he was watched, and drew his attention back from Agnes and the flames. Crow feet appeared around Dean’s eyes when he returned Castiel’s gaze, and Castiel thought they were beautiful.

Castiel eventually dared to move his hand, and when his fingertips just touched the back of Dean’s hand; it was Sam who ruined the moment: “We should pack and clean up. Hide our traces here.”

Castiel took his hand away and the smile left Dean’s eyes.

[…]

Dean heard the trunk slam shut. Seconds later, Sam closed his door. Dean winced internally at the unnecessary force Sam had used. But it was probably intentionally, a subtle sign he was giving them privacy. Sam‘s probably noticed something‘s going on, Dean thought, the kid‘s not stupid after all.

Cas was by his side, having fallen into step with him, arms touching, hands occasionally brushing against each other. Cas had walked slower and slower until Sam was out of sight and he’d stopped walking entirely. Dean had stopped a couple feet ahead and had turned around.

They stood in the middle of the gravely path that had led them straight to the church last night. It remained hardly visible in the distance by now.

The moonlight shone down on Cas‘s face, and with his beige trench coat being the only bright thing around them, he really looked like an angel.

Dean bit his lip.

“What?“ he asked eventually, when Cas didn’t stop looking at him with an expression that could only be described as fond. Dean shifted, the gravel suddenly way too loud beneath his feet.

🏷️ Snippets, Sneak Peeks & Fics tag list (message me to get added/removed):

@cowboymusings @cosm1c-haze @lesser-pies-474 @you-needajelloshot @idkkarlo @le-rainbow-system @all-american-corpse @clint-kenobi @celestial-castiel @reyolfx @akaalaisabel @angelkissesdean @youchangedmedestiel @bucketofdeltav @crowdsley

[loversofthegrave]

teenage sammy grappling with his intolerable attachment to his big brother one shot<3

1998, South Carolina

Summer hits full on like a hammer, shrivelling the last spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. John has them situated this time in South Carolina in the middle of a buttfuck nowhere trailer park. Sam huffs out a whoosh wafting a strand of his shaggy, greasy hair and scuffs his knock-off beat up converse into the dry dirt, the path leading up into their new home for the next week or two.

John recites his customary speech, Dean nods, ‘Yes sir’ as Dean always does. He’s John more often than dad these days. John gave Sam a name when he was born then left, like a background actor in a movie, cut from the film roll. The rumble of the impala and he’s gone.

Spider plants hang from pots on the wide trailer porch. Chipped ceramic ornaments of butterflies and lizards were placed outside. Inside, the shabby floral wallpaper and checkered armchair. The tattered cotton curtains blowing gently, and the cross hung on the wall, wonky. It was like a polaroid from the 70s, all orange hues and clashing patterns.

“What a dump,” he said gritting his teeth.

“It’s not so bad,” Dean shrugs “Kinda cozy,”

Dean’s eyes like hawks observing their new home, finding quick exits, salting the windows and doors. Safety first, look out for Sammy, like the good toy solider that he is.

Sam knows Dean can’t help it, the urgency, the attentiveness, to keep safe, guard his little brother. Sam would be lying if he said he wouldn’t want it any other way, he hopes it’s a two-way street.

Truth is, being in each other's pocket is all they’ve ever known. Dean is Sam’s brother as much as he is his only friend, his father, his mother, all rolled into one. Dean's hands being a caress and a fumbling worry of a mother’s. Dean who changed Sam’s diapers, who soothed teething pains with nimble fingers, tender rocking's and forgiving scoldings. It was all him, not a woman with satin blonde hair and porcelain skin nor the man with the grief-stricken furrowed brows and whiskey sighs. No, it was the kid with the goofy grin and the shoulders weighed down heavy with more liability than a kid should ever know, now turned leather jackets and calloused hands, felon fingers, summers caress dotted upon the bridge of a nose. Summer has always been extra generous to him, he thought, kind of face that weighs heavy on a teenage boys heart.

Looking at Dean is like hallucinating like looking through the lenses of kaleidoscope, soft orange and pink hues from the sun dipping into the horizon of the late summer dusk framing his head like an angel but an angel in the flames. An angel that could be Gabriel but an angel that could be Lucifer too, like he would readily delve into the deep, dark hell as he would fly up to the lofty, illuminated places. And Dean would for Sam.

Dean was Sam’s first everything, and it’s no surprise Sam would want that forevermore.

Sam can’t help it, this craving, it’s insatiable, like an itch irritating him under new stretched teenage skin. If he itches and itches, scratches with blunt anxious bitten nails until he draws blood. But the blood he revels in, the curving, cutting and slaughtering himself to fit into the groove of Dean’s heart, he would do anything, and he knows Dean would do the same but not in the ways Sam yearns for. Sam knows, he knows it’s twisted, he knew as soon as he was enrolled in school and how not everyone else feels that way about brothers. But he doesn’t care, not when Dean is the only grace he was given in his world of destruction and ruin, his pure drop in an ocean of chaos. Damn it if the lord doesn’t forgive him, heaven and hell are just words to a hopeless boy like Sam. When his brother looks at him, he decides to wage holy war.

But Dean doesn’t know, not really, he knows Sam loves him but no more, no less, too frightful Sam would scare him fiercely, that he would leave Sam here, loose his grace, and what is Sam without his grace? Just an empty vessel, an angel damned from heaven, forever. Think he’s sick, corrupt, disgusting. Only Sam can be the one to know this about himself, swallow the key if he must. He tries his best to shelter away these parts from Dean, distancing ever so slightly, it just makes the craving worst, he thinks, withdrawal.

So, he lives with Dean, in his shadow. Watches him, envies him, wants to be him, wants to be with him, under him. Watches him waltzing around the kitchen with sultry hips after this week's easy fuck. Probably some white trash bimbo Sam thinks harshly, doesn’t know what it truly means to have him, a boy, a man, like Dean. He goes for anything with legs and a mouth in a 1-mile radius, puts it out to anything, anyone but Sam.

“You stink Dean,” Sam mumbles under his breath

“That’s the smell of champions Sammy” Dean grins, easy and careless, throwing a wink over his shoulder. Sam shoots daggers into his back.

This is their dance, Dad goes on a hunt for a couple of weeks, Dean and Sam are holed up in a shack and they pretend that this is their normal, habit, but it’s not, they we’re and forever born in motion. Dean enrols Sam into the local (another) high school, Dean gets a short-term job working with his hands to hold them over until Dad gets back, this time at the garage. They make small talk with strangers when necessarily and act according to their roles, relocates the suspicious eyes on Sam’s stitched up hand me down t-shirts and Deans violet blooming bruises from training and hunts, keeps social services off their back. But they fit in OK around this truckers town so Sam holds it rigid, this vexation, lewdness, this jealousy brimming. Puberty is fucked, Sam likes to blame it on that.

~

It’s Friday, the shutters of the trailer are open and wide. Sam’s in makeshift shorts that were once jeans that he cut at the knees one town ago. The radio is static, and The Mama’s & The Papa’s is being carried through the thick-cut air, ‘you've got everything I need, and nobody can please like you, you baby and who believes that my wildest dreams and my craziest schemes will come true?’

Sam’s growth spurt mixed with food stamp fed spindly legs are propped up on the coffee table barefoot, toes wiggling, as he shovels spoonfuls of store brand cornflake knock offs in his mouth. Dean comes in wafting of oil and summer sweat after being outside tinkering with the ford pick-up truck Dad sorted out with a local hunter before he briskly left. He slaps the bottom of Sam’s foot with his greasy rag. Sam grunts.

"Up and at 'em or you're gonna be late" Dean lectures, parenting.

Sam rucks on an old 1975 Black Sabbath tour shirt that used to be Dean's that used to be Dads, now faded grey and bobbling. Pokes his feet into socks with his right toe sticking out of the hole, laces up his shoes and climbs into the passenger seat of the pick-up. Dean drops Sam off at the Pine Springs High and told him he'd pick him up, told him to ‘give ‘em hell’.

Pine Springs High was full of scraggy kids, Beavis and Butt-head boys, girls busty and leggy. Sam befriends one friend, a skinny freckled boy with thick rimmed glasses. His name is Davey. They were sat next to each other in science, dissecting a frog. Sam figures cutting open this frog is harder than the ghouls they slaughter. What did this frog ever do to anyone? Davey was informing Sam on the anatomy, pointed out the chambers of the heart, the ventricle. He seemed interested in trying to impress Sam with how smart he was. "You know a lot," stated Sam.

He smiled. He was a boy who wanted to be seen. Sam suspects with certainty he’s not in these careless halls of teenagers reeking of hormones and wariness of social status.

High school is not as gentle with kids like Sam and Davey. But Sam can tackle it, give as good as he gets. That’s what he’s been trained to do, what their dad trained him to do, those sparring sessions with Dean every other day doesn’t go to waste, as much as Sam likes to grumble and whine. The decomposition ghost of a girl in a tatty white dress with fine needlepoint lace trimmings from the 1820’s has more oomph in her thump than any of these teenagers.

Even in a Gas-mart town like this one full of greasy kids with dirty fingernails Sam still is stared at by clusters of kids. Maybe it’s the adequate collection of bruising on his body from said sparring and Victorian decomposition, or maybe it’s the fact he’s an outsider (he’s always the outsider) but Sam doesn’t mind. Cleanliness and godliness are deceptive, he’d rather wear his wounds, his ugliness. No fooling, he was torn and stitched.

~

Dean picks Sam up, sees the mop of brown hair and downcast face amongst the sea of chattering high-spirited kids. It reminds Dean of when he encouraged him to go to a classmate's birthday party in kindergarten, timid little Sammy protested but Dean encouraged his little brother to go, nervy on all he was missing out growing up. When Dean went to pick him up at McDonald's he spotted him, dejected, eyes glazed over. Other children around him screaming and sliding into pits filled with coloured balls. It splintered Dean to his core.

When Sam is in arm reach Dean tousles Sam's hair, and he gets a whack of the hand and a gruff in response.

“How’d it go Sammy?” Dean asks, hefting himself up into the driver's seat.

“Fine.” Sam replies, quick, sharp. “And it’s Sam,” he stresses.

Dean doesn’t know what it is these days but there’s a slight ache, a gnawing. Sam used to look at Dean like he hung the stars just for him. That Dean was God’s own reflection but now there’s a distance, an interspace and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. At first, he thought maybe it’s teenage hormones or pheromones or whatever the fuck, but Dean never remembers being that sulky as a teenager. Maybe he never got the chance. When he tries to touch Sam, he flinches, scurries away like he just spooked a rodent. Used to revel in it, they practically grew up in each other's arms. Was still sharing a bed in the motels until two years ago.

Dean would never admit it out loud to him, but he misses Sam. Misses that constant comfort of touch and affection.

They stop off at a local diner on their way back to the trailer park, Sam questions if they have enough money for the month to eat out, Dean tells him not to worry. All wooden panels, red and white checkered table clothes, a sign that reads, ‘lumber jack pancake special for $5.95!’ Dean eyes it up, breakfast at dinnertime, their lives never have rhythm or reason anyways. They slide into a booth of worn leather, Sam on one side, Dean on the other.

Sam orders a panini with ham and cheese and fries, Dean the lumber jack pancakes. When they arrive by a shy petite waitress with inky dark eyes and blushing blotted cheeks, Dean swipes a fry off Sam’s plate just to receive another swat. Any touch is better than no touch, bad attention better than none.

Sam doesn’t miss the way the waitresses' eyes linger on Dean’s profile. If he shoots a frosty glare her way Dean doesn’t have to know.

~

The sun with no forgiveness, a parched sky, the hillsides with purple wilting drifts of milkweed, dotting the cracks of the gas-station and garage. It was Saturday, Sam was at the garage while Dean worked. Tucked in a corner sheltered from the suns ruthless beat with his library copy of Catcher In The Rye he couldn’t return when John dragged them out of the motel inn at dawn a town back. Sam said he felt guilty, Dean told him to stop being such a law-abiding citizen.

He gazed at Dean, could smell his sweat, sharp and strong, a man, Sam’s brain applied helpfully. He was wearing overalls, wiping workman sweat from his forehead. Sam wanted to lick him, taste the salt and summer kissed skin. He knows he’s disgusting. At this rate Sam thinks he should stab his eyes out, so he can’t look. Burn his skin off, so he can’t touch.

~

The next Sunday, Sam sleeps in late. He finds Dean slouched on the floral couch, stretched out like a housecat watching TV. It’s always a rarity to see him in a relaxed stance, undisturbed, a recess to the constant chaos of their lives. It settles something steady and peaceful within Sam with just a hint of sadness. He mumbles a drowsy good morning and trudges to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He pisses in the toilet, sluggish, holds himself up steady with a hand against the tiles. The splash of his piss hitting the water too loud in the quiet murmur of their trailer.

Washing his hands, he moseys around in the medicine cabinet above the sink. Inside, aimless trinkets left behind by previous owners. Tweezers with a single gemstone on them, antibiotic ointment, outdated eyedrops.

Sam finds a small capsule behind an empty bottle of aspirin. He reaches for it, revealing a lipstick, the cheap kind you pick-up at Walmart for $5.

He holds it in his hand, stares. Turns it in his palm, opens the lid with a subtle click and rotates the base.

The lipstick itself is a cherry red, obscene kind of red. The type he sees on hookers lingering around the corners at motels when he slips out at dusk to buy Dr Peppers from the vending machine with the quarters Dean made him pocket.

The garish fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, whirring like insects as he watches them showcasing their chests and unveiled legs. They always look cold, Sam thinks.

Sam looks up and scans his face in the mirror, holds the lipstick close to his nose, sniffs it. It smells like wax and chemicals, half suspected it to smell like strawberries and an angel's kiss or something, screws his nose up.

Without much reflection he smears the cherry red lipstick onto his lips, it's messy and askew not as neat as he sees on the girls in Dean's skin mags. He sets down the lipstick onto the sink and looks at himself, really looks.

The glaring red on such a boyish face like Sam's feels lewd and indecent. He feels slightly silly, embarrassed, his cheeks stain a weak scarlet. He wonders what others would think of him like this, Dean, his dad.

God, dad would probably be appalled, call him a sissy, punish him by making him do triple the training. Make him run for miles under the blazing sun.

But Dean, what would Dean think of his little brother like this? If Sam just waltzed right out of the bathroom now and stood dead in the line of Dean's vision. Would he stammer? Get all flustered and struck-dumb? Would he look at Sam and think of him as those girls he promenades to the impala, the motel room when he thinks Sam's asleep and not hanging onto every grunt and sigh coming from Dean's throat. Stores them in the hollow of his heart, imprinted on it just as sacred as the Holy Bible is to a priest.

Would he want to tenderly caress the shape of his mouth, smear the lipstick, make Sam looked wrecked? He inspects the long plains of his body, like scorched landscape, bronzed from June’s boldness.

Sam’s been trying to get used to it, his recasting body. Finally losing his baby fat, almost catching up to Dean in height much to Dean’s dismay. Just he doesn’t carry the newly stretched limbs well, feels like a puppet and someone else is yanking the strings. He hasn’t thought about it much, how others perceive him, how Dean perceives him.

Sure, Sam’s had his first kiss and fumbled under a girl's shirt in Indiana last year, let him touch her boobs. She wore lots of eyeliner, wore black bulky boots and liked Alice In Chains. Sam creamed his pants as soon as he got a soft plump handful, she didn’t seem to mind so he tried not to feel too embarrassed. He couldn’t wait to tell Dean (lied to a reasonable measure) for him to be proud of him. Dean let Sam have his first beer after he told him, “Since you’re a man now,” Dean announced, “Don’t tell Dad,” He winked. Sam never tells John their secrets.

But other than that, he’s a bit clueless, still bashful when girls look his way. Isn’t fabricated like Dean, heavied bottom lip into effortless grin that make’s girls drop and fractures their porcelain hearts, little unconsciously brutal but never intentional to be so. Sam would let Dean smash him into smithereens, shards of broken ceramic all over the tiles, if he’d wanted.

He thinks about the woman who supposedly left the lipstick here, he decides it’s an older woman, barefoot in a simple dress in the tail end of summer, her feet and the palms of her hands showed pale pink against her sunburnt skin, looked ornamental. He decided she had many lovers, wore it for them, wonders if Dean would be one. Wonders what she would think finding out a gawky teenage boy was trying on her bygone lipstick.

Wonders what it would be like to wear this for Dean, his lover.

Dean compulsive, gluttonous with the want of Sam, gushing his hands over the sides of his body, the pull of his rutting teenage hips. The neediness he sometimes gets in that platonic brotherly way bordering on hysteria whenever Sam’s hurt. All his senses submerged entirely by Dean Dean Dean, his touch, his smell, his hot breath.

Sam shoves a frantic hand down his pyjama pants and briefs, wrenches his dick with crazed tugs. Comes that exact same time there’s rough banging on the door, Dean shouting, “Come on Sam, you’ve been in there forever!” rattling the door with his presence.

Sam leaps, grimacing at the mess he made in his pants, swiping a towel and cleaning himself up in rapid motions. Rubs off the lipstick with the back of his hand, scouring his mouth.

“You jerking off in their little brother?” Dean calls out, muffled slightly through the thick wood of the bathroom door, amusement laced in his tone.

When Sam is sure he’s cleansed himself of any misdemeanours and removed all crucial evidence he swings the door open and shoulders past Dean muttering, “No Dean, I wasn’t jerking off.” How much of that Dean believes is out of his control. He pockets the lipstick.

[wildwestdean]

"I can't remember the last time I've seen so many stars," you breathed out, staring up at the sky in wonder.

"Hard to believe I get to see them all the time," Dean replied softly, his gaze set upon you beside him instead of on the sky above.

"It must be nice," you declared wistfully. "Living in a town like this. Just so... peaceful all the time."

"Right... small town living," Dean agreed absently, sighing quietly.

He wanted to tell you that what he really meant was I see stars in your eyes every time you look at me, and feel the sun every time you smile. But no, he couldn't. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Not when he knew this wouldn't last.

a little snippet from a new dean fic i've been working on! can't wait to share it with y'all which should be hopefully soon

[supernotnatural2005]

I'm really torn between WW2 Dean and Plus Sized Reader, but I think I'm gonna go with WW2 Dean fic because that is so rarely done and I want to know what you're thinking to even make it a series!!!

It is currently untitled, but it will be set in WW2. So far i have about a chapter finished.

Giving you a brief summary, it’s set toward the end of the war. The reader is a nurse on the frontline tending to the injured soldiers. She had studied medicine before/during the start of it back home and enlisted to help.

She doesn’t have a husband or guy to go home to, her love life hadn’t been the most exciting.

Until an injured soldier is brought in one night, Dean.

It’s going to be a love story, but it will be nitty gritty, angsty as it’s war. But so far it’s a special one 🥹 Here is a little snippet of them meeting, Dean is going to be a menace 😉

Dean let out a short breath, like he might argue, but then he stilled. His jaw tensed, and you saw the flash of panic in his face before he even spoke. "Cas?"

"He's okay," you assured him quickly. "He’s got a pretty bad concussion, a few cuts and scrapes, but he’s going to be fine. Lucky he had you."

Dean exhaled, tension draining from his features as relief washed over him. "Good," he muttered. "Damn idiot always rushes in."

A ghost of a smile tugged at your lips. Even through the haze of pain, he was worried about his friend first. You had seen that kind of loyalty before—rare and unyielding.

Dean let out a slow breath, finally blinking up at you properly, his gaze clearing as he focused. And then, despite the trauma, the blood loss, and the god-awful situation he was in, he smirked.

"You sure I haven’t died, doll?" His voice was rough but laced with something teasing, familiar. "Because I’m pretty sure I’m looking at an angel."

You blinked, caught off guard by the line. A cheap one, for sure, but the way he said it—soft, playful, yet entirely sincere—made warmth rise to your cheeks before you could stop it.

You huffed out a quiet chuckle, shaking your head. "That head wound must be worse than I thought."

I hope that's answered your question and you're excited for this one? It may be a little while as I want to finish up some requests I've got, including yours, (I've just had a bit of brain fog atm) but then I'll be working on more WIP's 💕

[smollkittykat]

Dean: "I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel."

Sam: "That's hellfire, Dean."

[gerardways-mcr]

“Dean! This is the fifth time we’ve watched Batman in a week! Can’t we watch something different?” Castiel pleads.

Dean grows a shit-eating grin and hits play.

[glamlet69]

The Destiel Sickfic is still in the works (I'm sorry), so here's another snippet to tide you over!

Dean nodded. “Do you plan on sticking around?” He didn’t know why he immediately regretted asking the question, but he did.

Cas looked at him again, making sudden and uncomfortable eye contact. Dean almost looked away, but he forced himself not to.

“Would you like me to?”

“Uh, I mean if you want to. I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

“'Okay' you’re staying? Or 'okay' you’ll think about it?” 

“I’ll stay until you’re better. Something tells me Sam might need some help.”

Dean frowned, offended. “What's that supposed to mean?”

It was then that Cas smiled, exhaling a small chuckle.

Before anything else could be said, Sam returned, raising an eyebrow and hesitating in the hallway when he saw Cas in the doorway.

[thefirstradiant]

Suptober Day 11: Myth

Our Own Story

“Sam, Sammy, hold on! It’s okay!”

Dean dropped his backpack and sprinted after his little brother. He can’t be running away again.. This would be the second time this month. Dad would kill him.

Sam glanced back at Dean streaking after him and ran even faster around the corner of his elementary school.

Man, dude was only in 3rd grade and he could make Dean lose his breath running after him. The little guy was fast.

“Wait!” Dean yelled out as he rounded the corner of the school and put his hands on his knees to take a breath.

The yell wasn’t necessary. Sammy was right there, tucked in between the tall metal fence and the back door into the gym. He was crouched low to the floor, his head held in his hands and his school sneakers muddied from running.

Dean stopped. He hated seeing Sam like this. It made him furious at the rest of the world. How could they do this to his Sam?

He softened his tone as he walked up to Sam, still breathing heavily. “Hey. Sammy. What’s wrong?”

Kneeling down, Dean pulled Sam’s face up and out of his hands. It was stricken with tears, his eyes puffy and swollen. A fresh bolt of rage shot through Dean and his fist clenched by his side.

“No, Dean.” Sam’s voice was shaky but he was clearly reading Dean’s body language. “It’s okay. No one did anything to me.”

“Okay. Okay. Then what?” Dean was confused, but trying to stay calm for Sam.

“They just. Talk.”

“About?”

Sam looked away over the PE field and sighed. He waited a minute longer before saying anything more.

“I told someone about a monster again.”

“Sam-“

“I know, Dean! I know! But they were being so wrong. I had to!”

Dean patted Sam on the head and ruffled his hair a bit. It never went well when Sam said anything. He loved his headstrong little brother, but it meant he got himself into a lot of arguments. And he never backed down. That caused a lot of problems.

Sam sniffed. “They all started being really mean to me. Jeremiah said it was all just a myth. Then everybody said it. Someone wrote myth on my backpack cubby.”

Sam looked up at Dean like that was the world’s worst offense and started a fresh round of tears.

“It’s real, Dean! I know it is!”

“Hey, hey, Sam. Of course it’s real. You know it. I know it. Dad knows it. Who cares what Jeremiah thinks? You shouldn’t.”

Sam didn’t look any happier.

I would punch all of those stupid kids if I could, Dean thought. How dare they make Sam cry. Dean cast around in his mind for anything that might help Sam. Eventually, he landed on something Bobby had told him a few years ago, when he was in much the same situation himself.

“Hey, you wanna learn something?”

Sam stopped crying, confused, and blinked tears at Dean, but stayed quiet.

“Yeah ok. You know we got the word myth from the Greeks, right?”

Sam tilted his head.

“Yeah. From mythos. Well myth doesn’t really mean something’s fake or not real. You know what it actually means? Take a guess, Sammy.”

“Dean, I don’t know. I thought it means something bad.”

Dean smiled. This seemed to be working.

“No, no, actually myth means a story. A legendary story. One that people love to tell. And there’s one thing every myth usually has.”

“What is it?” Sam was curious now and smiling away his tears.

Dean ruffled his hair again.

“A hero! It means we’re making our own story, Sammy. And we get to be the heroes.”

“Yay! Can I be Spider-Man?” Sam jumped up and started flinging out his wrist like he was shooting webs at the wall.

Dean looked up at his little brother. So small. He tried to believe what he’d just told Sam. They could be the heroes, right? Maybe. Sam seemed to have forgotten he was crying a few seconds ago, anyway.

“Come on, Dean!” Sam grinned at him and came closer.

He whispered like he was sharing an all-important secret. “Don’t worry, you can be Batman.”

Dean laughed and stood up.

“Yeah, alright, Sam. I’m Batman.”

__________________________________

[the-flaming-nightmare]

WIP tag game!

I hope you don’t mind me picking multiple ❤️

7. Fatherly Love (Black Butler)

14. Caregiver!Dean and Little!Sam (SPN)

17. A Cold Misery (Black Butler)

I don't mind at all! 😁🥰

A snippet from the 9th chapter of Fatherly Love:

"Is there anything we can do to help, M-Mr. Sebastian?" Mey-Rin asked.

Sebastian opened his mouth to politely refuse, but quickly decided against it when he realized it would be the best opportunity to keep the three of them busy and out of the way while he tended to Ciel.

"Yes, actually." Sebastian looked over at Bardroy first. "Bard, I need you to go out and kill and clean one of the hens. I'm thinking a simple chicken soup for this evening's dinner. But only kill and clean it. I'll take care of cooking it myself. However, you may choose the vegetables and chop them up as well afterwards." He then turned his gaze to Mey-Rin. "As for you, Mey-Rin, I need you to take care of the chores I was meant to handle when we got back: dusting the drawing room and the young Master's office and mopping the floors." Lastly, he turned to Finny. "And, Finny, I need you to go out and chop more firewood. It's going to be another cold night."

Sebastian gave each of them a look. "Can I trust you three to manage those tasks efficiently?"

They nodded, eyes full of determination that Sebastian desperately hoped would be enough to keep them from making any mistakes he would be forced to rectify later.

"Sir, yes, sir!" They exclaimed in unison before taking off.

Once the sound of their footsteps had grown far enough away, Sebastian turned his attention to Tanaka.

"Tanaka, if you be so kind, I believe the young Master could use a warm drink after his bath," Sebastian said, before also adding, "I will also explain the events of this afternoon to you just as soon as I get the Master cleaned up."

"I'd appreciate that very much," Tanaka replied, hand over his chest and a small, relieved smile on his face. "I will see that the young Master's drink is prepared by the time he is done with his bath."

Sebastian gave the old butler a smile of gratitude. "Thank you, Tanaka."

A snippet from Caregiver!Dean and Little!Sam:

Sam slapped a hand over his mouth when a sob slipped managed to still slip past his lips. Try as he might to hold it together, Sam couldn't stop himself from bursting into full-blown tears. Nor could he stop himself from dropping into his little headspace.

"Mm... Sammy?"

Sam flinched at the sound of his brother's groggy voice. He immediately threw himself onto his belly and stuffed his face into the rough, musky motel pillow in attempt to mask his cries.

After a several long seconds of silence, Sam thought he was in the clear, that maybe upon receiving no response Dean would simply fall back to sleep. He realized he was wrong, however, when the edge of the bed dipped and he felt a hand on his back–cutting his sobs to an abrupt but brief stop.

A snippet from A Cold Misery:

Ciel frowned at his response, disappointment lining his gaze. Fortunately, though, the little boy didn't become anymore upset by his response. Which he knew was likely only due to Ciel not feeling well and not having the energy to put into more of a protest. Instead, he just pressed his blankie to his cheek and stuck one of Blue's ears into his mouth to suck on, letting Sebastian take care of his wet nappy.

As soon as Ciel was clean and wrapped up in a fresh nappy, the Caregiver swapped grey ear now soggy with drool for a dummy. With that all taken care of, he picked the boy back up and made for the stairs once more.

Arriving back to the kitchen, Sebastian placed Ciel in his highchair (which earned him a muffled, grumpy whine in response) and quickly got to work on packing his breakfast to go and putting the rest of the food away. And while he did that, he also began to make the calls in search of an impromptu babysitter for the day.

He started with Diedrich.

Thank you so much for the ask!! 🧡🧡

[lintisinfeels]

7:17

"Cas, I'm so freakin' - I'm so sorry for what I did to you." "I know Dean, I know. I'm the one who should be more sorry." "But you had a good life, a wife, everything. And then I just walzed into your life and..." "I had a feeling it wasn't meant to be permanent. Something important was missing." "I ruined it for you, like I always do when something nice happens to people I - people I care about." "I ruined things for you first. I did this to Sam. This was the only way to make things right." "But - " "I belong by your side, Dean. In some way I will always belong to you." "Cas, shut up." Dean's fists were clutching the collar of Cas' coat and he pulled the angel closer. Their eyes met, and for a moment Cas saw only Dean, no trace of Lucifer anywhere in the room. Dean forced a smile. "I'll be back for you." "Thank you." Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel and hugged him like there was no tomorrow. For a moment Castiel just stood there stiff, but then he slowly wrapped his arms around Dean and hugged  him back.

[bespectacledgiraffe]

A Sneak Peek for

Like A Prayer (On My Knees)

a Destiel fanfic on ao3 from me for you.

Status: completed, currently editing chapter by chapter. See current pinned post for master post of this fic.

Chapter Four, Part Two, coming up next Sunday, June 1st

How would it feel to kiss Castiel? People kiss their best friends all the time, right? Even on the mouth, no big deal. Except right now it was. A big deal. Because Dean had just realised…things. And now things were moving pretty fast and he was not prepared for it.

All for the case, no hard feelings. That's what he had hoped at first. But damn, the tables had turned.

Cas looked with unreadable and open eyes at him, like he would do everything Dean asked of him. And he would probably do.

Dean breathed in deeply, tried to ignore the foul odour that had come with the pastor, and freed his hand from Cas‘s grip, lifting the other one from his chest. The disappointment on Cas’s face, there and gone too quickly for Dean to notice. He carefully laid his hands to rest on Cas‘s cheeks and cupped his face between his thankfully not-shaking fingers.

Cas’s skin was unexpectedly soft. Warm. Details Dean had probably noticed many times before but never noticed noticed.

Cas held onto his arms, awkwardly, not like someone who knew they would get kissed any moment now.

Dean licked his lips. “I’m gonna kiss you now, Angel.”

This one’s quite a short peek at the next chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway.

🏷️ tag list (message me to get added/removed):

@cowboymusings @cosm1c-haze @lesser-pies-474 @you-needajelloshot @idkkarlo @le-rainbow-system @all-american-corpse @clint-kenobi @celestial-castiel @reyolfx @akaalaisabel @angelkissesdean @youchangedmedestiel @bucketofdeltav